The Last Marauder
by BestSkeptic
Summary: Oneshot. Remus Lupin can't bring himself to kill Peter Pettigrew, and the latter can't understand why.


"_The Friend of Your Youth is the only friend you will ever have, for he does not really see you. He sees in his mind a face which does not exist any more, speaks a name–Spike, Bud, Snip, Red, Rusty, Jack, Dave–which belongs to that now nonexistent face but which by some inane and doddering confusion of the universe is for the moment attached to a not too happily met and boring stranger. But he humors the drooling doddering confusion of the universe and continues to address politely that dull stranger by the name which properly belongs to the boy face and to the time when the boy voice called thinly across the late afternoon water or murmured by a campfire at night or in the middle of a crowded street said, 'Gee, listen to this–"On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble; His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves–"' the Friend of Your Youth is your friend because he does not see you anymore._

"_And perhaps he never saw you. What he saw was simply part of the furniture of the wonderfully opening world. Friendship was something he suddenly discovered and had to give away as a recognition of and payment for the breathlessly opening world which momently divulged itself like a moonflower. It didn't matter a damn to whom he gave it, for the fact of giving was what mattered, and if you happened to be handy you were automatically endowed with all the appropriate attributes of a friend and forever after your reality is irrelevant. The Friend of Your Youth is the only friend you will ever have, for he hasn't the slightest concern with calculating his interest or your virtue."_

–Robert Penn Warren, _All the King's Men_

**..x..**

_The Last Marauder_

**..x..**

"Wh-wh-why didn't you kill me, Moony?" The man stuttered and stared at him with a pair of grotesque, beady eyes.

"I should have," a weary Remus Lupin muttered, staring back at the pathetic excuse for a man. The truth of the matter was that he wasn't ready to answer that question just yet, nor was he certain of his response. "I should have killed you a long time ago. I should have let Padfoot do the honours when we first reunited in the Shrieking Shack, against Harry's wishes. Harry Potter, to whom you owed your life but instead gave your burden. Oh, Peter, letting you go was the worst mistake I've made in my life. I should have killed you."

Wormtail had a look of utter confusion painted across his face. It was revolting in the worst way. "B-b-but you d-d-d-didn't."

Lupin smiled mildly. "Ah, but things were different then. If you'll so recall, I had not seen you in twelve years. I didn't know whether to kill or embrace you. Instead, I let you go. It would seem I should have chosen one of the former two."

"Embrace me?" Pettrigrew asked with eager eyes.

"Peter," Lupin sighed. "For ten years I had no friend more loyal. Surely you'd understand my confusion." He could tell the rat-like man did not. Perhaps for that reason, he shouldn't have second-guessed. There was no redeeming blind loyalty to evil. He felt foolish for even considering it, for assuming that all still waters ran deep, and that friendship and brotherhood meant the same thing to all his brothers.

He thought back to Sirius, who, on the other end of the spectrum, would never have understood his predicament. The dogged Black sense of loyalty stood sturdy as the Black temper–often erring on recklessness, and always of a considerable magnitude. Sirius was selfish in that way; nothing enraged him more than a person who could not assimilate his own philanthropic tendencies. Since few could do so, most enraged him. Again with the notorious Black temper. Sirius never gave less than 100 per cent; it was one of his many endearing qualities whose dangers went largely unrecognised by those who took advantage of it. He damned Peter for his betrayal, and never stopped damning. In Lupin's position, he would have killed the man right off. But Remus didn't have Sirius' optimism, nor his audacity. Where Sirius was an idealist, Remus was a realist. He knew the evil in people to which Sirius was blind. He recognised temptation for what it was. Righteousness alone was not reason enough to kill the trembling man before him. There was something more, something he couldn't comprehend, something he wanted to learn from the man. He didn't know where to begin.

Lupin took a drag from the cigarette between his knuckles and exhaled cooly. He was in control, and it felt odd to wield this power over a man who had once been his comrade. They should have both been calm and collected, not just him. And if he were the only one, surely the other should be effervescent or, in the very least, mildly enthused. There were too many times when he was the cool one juxtaposed with Sirius' vivacity, after all. But this... this was just off. Wrong. Out of place. "Hungry?"

Pettrigrew blinked wildly, hands shaking. "What?" he sputtered.

"Are you hungry?"

His guest shook his head violently. Remus shrugged. It was strange to think of Wormtail as his guest, but stranger to view him as a hostage, whereas, essentially, that's what he was. It wouldn't have been that way. At the ambush, he'd cornered the rat-man. He had his wand raised, the killing curse on the tip of his tongue. But at the sight of his childhood friend groveling at his feet, cynicism and sanctimony at once left him. He couldn't do it, the man was just so pathetic. And there was something else, but he couldn't quite place it. But where everyone viewed Peter as inferior, as a traitor, as an easily-molded mind, Remus saw him as an equal, just as he did twenty years ago. He was Wormtail, he played harmless pranks and laughed in the boys' dormitory. He was no lap dog of the Dark Lord, he was Peter. Pete. _Wormtail, Wormtail, Wormtail._ Sure, he could be a pest, but that was Wormtail, and you needed Wormtail to have the Marauders.

And then it hit him.

"I never wanted to be the last marauder," Lupin said quietly.

Pettigrew stared in disbelief. "You wanted to die?"

Lupin stared back at his childhood friend with pleading eyes and a watery smile, reaching out for something that couldn't grasp him. Reaching out for something that should have forced him so long ago not to hold back. He never took the risks that James did, he was never as adventuresome as Sirius. To him, everything had a consequence, and even as teenagers he knew they were not invincible. Remus Lupin proceeded with caution, and now he was paying the price. "No, Peter, I didn't want to die. I just wanted to die before them. Or at least have died before now, when I've had all this time to prolong my misery. Don't you see what you've done, Peter? Do you realise?"

"I..."

"You loved them," Lupin whispered. "How could you?"

"I... the Dark Lord... His Greatness..."

Remus slapped Peter across the face. "Look at me!" he commanded. "I want to get a good look at the face of the only Blood-traitor in this room. The only spineless marauder. The blind follower. The Judas, the failure." He put two fingers to his temples and looked down before speaking again, this time more fervently. "They would have _died _for you, Peter, and they did. They died so that you could sully their legacies, because they loved you so much. And you feel no regret, do you?"

Pettigrew was silent for a moment and furrowed his brow. "Why didn't you kill me, Moony?"

Remus' head collapsed into his hands, grey silken strands tumbling over his knuckles, and he let out a dry sob. "Because I'm the already the last of the marauders."

**A/N:** If you read, please review.


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